


THAT Century

by Megchad22



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 14th Century, Black Plague, Crowley Hates the 14th Century (Good Omens), Good Omens Holiday Swap 2019, Historical References, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22057822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megchad22/pseuds/Megchad22
Summary: Crowley has a ready excuse for why he hated the 14th century. He could even tailor it to his audience. Only one being get the truth.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46
Collections: Good Omens Holiday Swap 2019





	THAT Century

**Author's Note:**

  * For [apocryphalia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocryphalia/gifts).



> This is for the Good Omens Holiday Gift Swap 2019 for apocryphalia

Crowley made sure to have an excuse at the ready should anyone ask. He had even thought about it enough that he could tailor that excuse depending on who asked him. They were even true, for a given value of truth. His dislike of the entire 14th century was well known in any circle that knew him or of him. 

When ignorant humans asked he gave a pithy response comprised of research difficulties and knowledge lost. It was staggering to consider how much wisdom drained from the world as a third of its population died in a few short decades. 

For humans who knew who he truly was he ranted of the smell of death. For a few he even talked about how difficult his job became as illness swept the land. There would be another, more complete answer when Adam or his friends finally worked up the courage to ask about that vocal dislike. Perhaps it would be the exhaustion on the Angels face during the worst. 

Not a single Angel had asked, save Aziraphale, had asked. Nor did he even really expect them to. Nevertheless he had made sure he had an answer ready on the tip of his tongue. If asked he could recall that this was the time that the angelic forces on earth increased 100 fold to try and collect the souls of the dead. He could call them buzzkills and cite how much harder his job became. 

These statements to all these people and possible interrogators were true, though they did not give the full story. 

It was a rare demon who questioned that statement, there were few who didn’t know the events leading up to the Black Plague. Up until the attempt to recreate the Roman Empire in the Americas, which had only been a partial success when the colonies declared their independence, the events leading up to the death of 25 million humans were the greatest, most secret undertaking the demons had attempted since the Fall. One that Crowley had been unaware of until it was far too late. 

Hastur and Ligur as Lords of Hell spent the first 40 years of the 14th century following Crowley around, an audit they called it. Crowley had long be distrusted by the two Lords. Though few could argue against the effectiveness of his methods they didn’t understand them.

The plan had been to set loose a disease, a killer of man then leverage even pious souls who would sell themselves for health. Numbers run at the end said they had about a 15% success rate. The thing is that the plan would have been effective 1300 years prior and a complete failure even as little as 200 years later. In the world Hell had expected to find the disease would have been fatal but slow moving. Designed to incubate just long enough to affect the trading posts. It would drive fear before it and the demons would sweep in to deal for health and wealth and souls. 

Crowley was the only one who had spent enough time amongst the humans to know how poorly the plan would go. And even he would have underestimated the sheer amount of death. Because Hell did not take into account that the humans were not isolated pockets with groups of traders traveling in between. They were a seething mass spreading the disease to each other over and over again. 

The Serpent railed in Hell, ranting for decades as he tore demons up one side and down the other. He just barely managed to keep his head enough to keep the topic on the souls lost to Heaven. 85% of the 25 million who might otherwise have been convinced to join Hell. The renewal of faith after the illness died away that undid 90% of his centuries of work. 

It was only the fact that the plan was moderately unsanctioned that he got away with his insubordination. The Lords had planned on their own, and if they had succeeded they would have been rewarded. As it was that 15% meant that there was no true punishment other than a standing order to keep Crowley informed of any major undertaking on Earth. 

Most demons, in fact most beings who had heard or borne witness to Crowley’s rant believe this was the cause of his dislike of the 14th century. That firm reminder of exactly where he was in the hierarchy of Hell. 

Though this did have a significant effect on his feelings for that century it was not the full reason. There is only one being in all of God’s creation that could ask and get the accurate answer. His Angel, Aziraphale. 

That being doesn’t doesn’t ask for centuries. Not until after an apocalypse failed to happen. Not until the former AntiChrist looked at the Serpent and asked curiously. 

They were sitting in the backroom of the bookshop, where the scent of smoke and demonic despair took two years to finally fade. Crowley is in his favorite position these days. His head is laying in his Angels’s lap with pale, manicured fingers running through his hair while the Angel read. His glasses were off and hsi eyes were closed, drifting. 

“I’ve always been curious,” Aziraphale started absently, “Why did you hate the 14th century?”

Crowley blinked slowly as he parsed the question, he was comfortable and nearly asleep. “Though I already answered that. Today in fact. Told Adam that it horrible how you exhausted yourself and I couldn’t help”

Aziraphale’s eyes flicked from the book he was reading to stare directly into Crowley’s. The warmth and love the angel shared freely with him since the world didn’t end was intoxicating. Crowley could feel his cheeks turning red. 

“I do know you, my dear, that was one of your go to statements. It may have been true but not the whole reason.” 

Crowley didn’t wince, like he would have with any other being he was caught out by. This was his Angel, they had no secrets, not anymore. He bit his lip, trying to find the words to describe the secret he had held from everyone else. The realization that had been written on his heart since 1348. 

“Do you remember...” He started before Aziraphale could become anxious. Though much more relaxed than he had been under Heaven leaving them did not magically cure his fear of doing the wrong thing, the bad thing. “We only saw each other that one time in the 1300’s.”

Aziraphale nodded, eyes darkening with remembered horror. Crowley swallowed, staring up into those blue eyes, enable to hide anything from the angel. The words escaped him and he tried to capture that moment once more to describe it properly.

_ They had been in Italy, Venice. It would still be months before the disease travelled north, years before it petered out for the first time. The last time Crowley had been in this city it had been vibrant, alive with colors and brilliant souls. Dancing and laughter had spilled into the streets with no regard to class. Corruption of these souls had been delicious, he had hardly had to do a thing and he never had to take choice away from the souls.  _

_ Not so now. Color had been leached, been burned from the city. The beautiful decorations that had hung for centuries torn away and set ablaze for fear of sickness. Even the cries of the dying and their loved ones was muted here.  _

_ Crowley wandered the streets, feeling the pull of the dead; the pain of the dying. The illness was spreading far too quickly, becoming untreatable in moments. The only deals to make was that of a painless quick death. Everywhere Crowley looked he was reminded that this was the touch of Hell, that this horror was the work of those on his side.  _

_ He extended every sense, trying to feel for a choke point. Feeling for a way to protect the rest. The deepest parts of him called to his mother for the first time since his Fall, begging for an answer. A solution. No answer was forthcoming.  _

_ “Crowley?” _

_ His name rang dully off of the unadorned stones of the narrow streets. Further down the way stood the angel Aziraphale. He had not seen his angelic counterpart since Camelot. Since the angel had turned down his offer to work together.  _

_ The angel looked exhausted in the way that only an immortal being could. There was nothing that a human could notice but lack of energy was like a black hole to his senses. A negative space that Crowley only noticed because he could physically see the angel. That was likely why he couldn’t sense the angel as he was looking for a solution.  _

_ Crowley looked at the angel a tad warily, “Aziraphale?” _

_ For a single moment the angel looked relieved to see him, almost happy. “Are you trying to figure out the cause of this illness too?” _

_ Something strange shifted around in the demons’ being, a bubble of something at the sight of the angel being happy to see him. Discomfort shoved pins into him at the question. “Aziraphale...” _

_ Crowley watched the angel’s face shift as realization set in. Horror, pain, betrayal all flashed across his face for a moment. Then the exhaustion, which had lifted for a moment, settled even heavier onto the angel’s frame. “Oh.” Aziraphale’s voice was not just quiet but small, “you caused it.” _

_ Waves of horror and guilt and pain froze him for two moments, it was almost a moment too long. Crowly could see the angel draw back, close away. It was in that moment that Crowley realized something. He could not bear if the angel thought poorly of him, Aziraphale could not leave thinking he had done this.  _

_ Crowley jerked forward, feeling almost pulled by a cord, reaching out toward the Angel. Azraphale flinched, for the first time fear filled his eyes when he looked at Crowley. “No I-I didn’t.” Crowley burst out, loud enough to startle the few birds who were roosting nearby.  _

_ The angel stilled, not quite believing but wanting to believe. His voice, when he spoke, was no longer as small but was still soft. “But you know what did.” _

_ Crowley swallowed. Treason was something that he had only participated in once and it had been in an unknowing kind of way. This is different. To tell the angel what he knew would be deliberate treason against Hell. He would be destroyed if anyone found out. Crowley made the mistake of looking into the Angel’s blue eyes. Aziraphale was looking at Crowley like he was the answer. Like he was important. “It is demonic in origin. Hastur and Ligur had it designed to incite fear so they could make more deals for souls. I only found out when they released it at  _ _ Issyk-Kul. It’s meant to be transmitted by fleas. _ _ ” Crowley closed his eyes, unable to watch the hope leave Aziraphale at his next words, “There is no cure. It changed too fast. We can’t stop it.” _

_ There was a breath and then two. “Oh, Crowley.” _

_ There was something warm in Azirphale’s voice. It made Crowley’s skin tingle. He opened his eyes to see Aziraphale staring at him with a smile in his eyes. He was still exhausted but his shoulder were now straight where they had been slumped before. It seemed that rather than robbing the angel of the last bit of hope, Crowley’s words revitalized it. “Don’t tell anyone where you got the information.” Crowley spluttered. _

_ Aziraphale’s voice was so warm, “Or course not, my dear boy. Thank you.” Something mischievous and foreign painted itself across Aziraphale face. “I’ll have to owe you a temptation or two for the information.” _

_ Crowley felt the strange something under his skin shift again, settling in comfortably. He scoffed playfully. “More than that, if this pans out.” _

_ The angel hummed, “Perhaps.” _

**_The true beginning of The Arrangement. The moment that Azriphale began to trust him. The information that Corwley had provided both did and did not pan out. With the origin point and transmission method the angelic forces, including nearly the entirety of Healing Department under the Archangel Raphael managed to minimize casualties and ensure that the Black Plague as it would later be called did not rack up as many casualties in the West, reducing what would have been decades of sickness to mere years. Like the Demons it was beyond their ability to eradicate it. Nor could they keep it from returning every few decades to wipe out more people. The Angelic forces also managed to turn this to their advantage, luring more and more souls to heaven in the form of salvation. It was only in the 19th century when sanitation practices improved that the cycle of death finally slowed._ **

In the present Aziraphale hummed, “I remember. The meeting went well, I thought.”

Crowley nodded, ignoring the oddness of doing that while his head was still on Aziraphale’s leg. “It did. ‘Swhat I realized during that conversation.” Aziraphale continued to pet Crowley’s hair, letting him gather his words before releasing them into the world. “I realized I was in love with you then. That I had been since the Garden.”

The hand in his hair stilled, Aziraphale’s eyes were still warm but reflected remembered devastation. “It was not a pleasant thing to realize, was it?”

Crowley barked a short, bitter laugh. “You know as well as I it was a right horrid thing to realize, you got a taste of it yourself during much later. Could even tell you felt the same, even before you figured it out.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went dreamy and his voice dropped to a murmur, “When you saved those books. Even I had forgotten about them.”

Crowley grinned back up at his angel, “Even knowing you felt the same, there was nothing for it. Treason was one thing, what Hell would have done to you if they realized? No way I was risking that. Took me a century to come to terms with how much it hurt and how much I needed you. After that all I could think about when someone mentions that blasted century is realizing that demons can love and that I did.”

Aziraphale raised his hand to cup at Crowley’s cheek tenderly. “We did get there in the end, my love. It’s hard not to look back and think every moment was worth it to be here, now.”

Warmth suffused Crowely’s entire being, the love radiating off of Angel was just as all consuming as ever. His mind ran itself back over the course of their history, his history all the way back to the beginning. Thinking about it he did have to agree with his angel. Everything, including his Fall was worth it, every pain they might feel in the future. Even if they are torn apart. It will all be worth it for the moments they have now. 

Even the horror that was the 14th century.


End file.
